Linda Duberley answered David Cameron's call for ordinary, non-political, female MPs. So why can't she get a seat?

Linda Duberley wants to become a Conservative MP but cannot get a seat - despite her 'ordinariness'

Tear gas in South Korea? Faced that. Live ammunition and water cannon in Indonesia? No problem.

Four backbench Conservative MPs in a hotel room in the picturesque market town of Cheadle? Going in front of them, let me tell you, was terrifying.

As a former reporter for The Mail on Sunday, an anchorwoman for Sky News, a foreign correspondent for American news channel Fox, and a regular contributor to Tonight With Trevor McDonald, I’ve seen some sights and experienced some historic and world-shattering events, from the devastation of the Twin Towers to the aftermath of the death of Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping.

But nothing could prepare me for my latest mission: to become a Conservative parliamentary candidate.

Yes, yes – I know what you’re thinking. She must be barking mad.

At least that’s been the reaction of pretty much everyone I’ve told, from the mums at the gates of the schools attended by my daughter and two sons, to old colleagues and even complete strangers.

And that was before the recent revelations about MPs’ expenses.

Partly, the amusement was down to the rotten reputation that MPs have been accumulating for a long time.

But also, I’ve always been decidedly non-partisan. My parents may have been lifelong Tory voters and I may have ‘small c’ conservative values, but I’ve never been one for hustings and electioneering.

I suppose they looked at me – divorced mum of three, running my own small media-training business, heavily involved in two children’s charities and the PTA – and thought: ‘Where is she going to find time to canvass for votes, let alone sit in the House?’

But then last summer I heard David Cameron talking about the need for people, especially women from all backgrounds, to join the Conservatives, regardless of political expertise.

And learning that there were only four female Tory MPs aged under 50 (three now that Julie Kirkbride is going), I had what can be described as a Damascene conversion.

I had organised a meeting with Francis Maude, Shadow Minister for the Cabinet, at the House of Commons to discuss my providing media training for the party.

But when I saw him what came out of my mouth was: ‘Um, I’d like to be an MP, please.’ I’m not sure who was more surprised – him or me. Then he looked at me and replied: ‘You would be perfect.’

After that, things moved incredibly and flatteringly fast. I was told to contact Gareth Fox at the candidates’ office, who was extremely helpful.

By the time I went to France the following week for a holiday, I found myself dashing into a Dordogne photo-booth so I could get pictures taken and my application form returned before the end of summer recess.

Linda with her children Fergus and Kitty

Then came that Parliamentary Assessment Board (PAB) – the panel of MPs in Cheadle, Cheshire – which every would-be Conservative candidate must face to be selected for the list of hopefuls.

My boyfriend Scott gamely agreed to get up at 4.30am to drive me north for the day. And then it was six hours of tests, essays and questions designed to see if I could make a good constituency MP.

Looking at my 15 fellow would-be MPs was sobering. Just a few of us were not already in politics, one or two were parents and I was the only woman. So far, so typical, I suppose.

But it did make me think that if David Cameron meant what he said about getting ordinary women into Parliament, then I surely had a good chance. Didn’t I tick all his boxes?

The PAB was fascinating. I had five minutes to prepare a three-minute presentation on whether I thought the latest James Bond film would increase interest in diplomatic relations.

Luckily, I knew plenty about Korea, having, in 1997, delivered pieces to camera from the edge of the de-militarised zone. But now, in Cheshire, it was about the comfort zone – and I was out of mine.

The delivery was nerve-wracking. We were also asked to prioritise lists of constituency tasks, from writing thank-you letters to offering media soundbites. Another exercise tested our potential ability to work with other MPs.

Weeks passed after the PAB. Then, out of the blue, I received a letter telling me I had been successful and was now on the official candidates’ list. I honestly hadn’t been so happy since the day I landed my first trainee job at the Western Mail in Cardiff.

I went rushing up to see my eldest son, who had been suffering from depression, and said: ‘Look, see what you can do if you put your mind to it. Amazing things can happen.’

David Cameron said he wants more independent, non-political people on the candidates list

Looking back, that point was a high.

Because since then, my attempts to be chosen for a seat have been unsuccessful, mainly because I have no party past – what is called a ‘political footprint’.

It turns out that the very factor that made me a good choice – my ‘ordinariness’ in Westminster terms – counts against me in the field.

And the practical skills I thought I was bringing – my media savvy and experience of world affairs – I’ve been told to keep schtum about.

I’m still not sure why. Perhaps they thought I would go off-message. But then, so much of the way candidates are chosen has been a mystery to me.

The first constituency I tried for was Watford.

I had been advised to choose areas where I had a connection – advice later overturned, wisely, by Theresa May, who said it was better to apply for any seats I felt I could work with or where people might like the look of me.

But my family all come from the fringes of North-West London. I spent my teenage years shopping in the boutiques of Watford, so it felt a good place to start.

I rang a local activist for advice.

‘You have no chance of winning,’ he said. ‘But you can apply and you might make the last 25.’

How can this be, I thought. They haven’t even seen my CV yet. Aren’t I Mrs Ordinary, sent straight to them from David Cameron?

Undeterred and excited, I arranged to meet the editor of the local paper and the manager of the local football team so that I could go into the next stage well-briefed on local issues.

But even before those meetings, I heard that I was out of the running. I’d had no feedback on my application but I started to suspect my lack of a political footprint was to blame.

So I set out to get a footprint. Candidates receive a round-robin email with requests for help. I thought I’d better start volunteering.

Next thing I knew, I was back in North-West London in November delivering leaflets in the pitch dark, wearing my warmest coat (floor-length Armani) and trying to find my way with a map and a torch.

The council candidate for the ward had been surprised when I turned up to help.

What was I, a stranger, doing helping out in her region? It dawned on me then how naive it was to expect any constituency to adopt a candidate parachuted in by Central Office.

But my campaign went on. I live in Richmond in South-West London and roped in my children to deliver leaflets locally.

I became a ward vice-chairman, and a vice-chair of the area’s Conservative Women’s Association. My home constituency had selected Zac Goldsmith to fight the next Election, so I joined his campaign and benefited from his support and advice.

I held parties at my home and went to at least two speeches or presentations in Central London every week. And I continued to help out when the emails asking for support flooded in.

About this time, several friends and activists asked me if I was on the ‘A list’.

I had no idea what this was, but soon learned that it was a list of Central Office’s preferred candidates – presumably the Madonnas and Elton Johns of the political world.

Was I on it? I rationalised that I wasn’t if I didn’t even know it existed. So did that mean I was officially B list? That was not a very comforting thought.

In February, another tranche of potential seats was announced. I applied for Hornsey and Wood Green in North London, only to be turned down because I lived in Richmond – too far away.

Then I applied for Holborn and St Pancras and was thrilled to make the final eight. I also applied to Cardiff but difficulties within the branch have rather stymied any selection there.

Then it all stopped. There were no seats left, bar unpredictable by-elections.

I was told to go off to generate yet more political footprint. When I suggested using my media skills, I was warned that ‘we’ve got enough media types in the party’ (I’m still not sure who or what they meant by that).

I was offered help putting a CV together as if I hadn’t done one before. And did I want a bit of media training?

Someone who clearly hadn’t read my CV suggested I might have to get used to having a microphone stuck in front of me, and even being on telly. How did I feel about that? I felt despair.

And then, last Sunday, just when I thought it couldn’t get any more frustrating, I watched David Cameron telling the BBC’s Andrew Marr that the answer to all our political problems was to get more independent, non-political people on to the candidates’ list.

He thought his current list was too full of career politicos and men. I couldn’t help it – I threw my mug of tea at the screen. Was he mad?

Didn’t he realise his list of candidates already has those ordinary folk on it but that very few associations will pick a non-local candidate, particularly one with no experience?

Meanwhile, naive candidates like me, lulled into believing there is a point to joining the list, don’t have a clue how the system works and are destined to spend hours, as I have, neglecting their work, their family and friends for the joys of stuffing envelopes, shoving leaflets through doors and trying to develop a footprint Mr Cameron doesn’t want them to have.

Last year, I had to join the Conservatives before I could go in front of the PAB, at a cost of £225 plus VAT. Now, Mr Cameron says that anyone is welcome, whatever their political background.

How does that work? Will I get a refund?

Also, we are told there is a level playing field. But the past year has taught me that many of the candidates are pre-selected, the procedures a formality.

Even the PAB may not strictly be necessary. I met one candidate who had been invited to compete for a seat before being approved by the board.

Others on the list were openly shocked to hear that I had been delivering pamphlets and canvassing. ‘Why?’ asked one, simply and tellingly.

I’ve written to Mr Cameron expressing my concerns, stating that I believe the Conservative process continues to favour special advisers, single barristers and scions of political dynasties over ordinary people and that he has to decide if he wants Joanna Lumley or Joanna Soap at his side.

But I’ve yet to hear back. If it truly is the latter, he needs to find a way not just to get us on the list, but to provide an infrastructure that tells us how to get selected for a seat.

I don’t want to be sprung into a seat causing local dismay. I just want the chance to work within a community to help other people.

I have been warned not to speak out in the media but it’s my media career that both qualifies me for the ‘list’ and has shown me how the lack of care in our society has led to its breakdown.

Maybe I don’t have a history of political lobbying or working in Central Office but I’ve seen close-up the obesity crisis, the effects of binge drinking, the problems of teenage addiction.

I’ve been on many front lines in war-torn countries. Now I want to be on the front line at home.

Perhaps I’m too outspoken for the Conservatives. Perhaps I’ve signed my own death warrant by writing this article. I do hope not.

When one of the candidates team asked me to a drinks party recently to discuss future seats, I replied that I’d fill in any form and sign it in my own blood if that helped.

Because I’d still like to find a seat where I can serve the community for a party I have come to believe in.

But if I do so, it will be as an ordinary woman, not a political animal, and it would be nice to see that respected.

Candidates like me may not know the ins and outs of Westminster gossip, or how to play the Commons system, or the fastest way to get a safe seat.

But we do know what’s being talked about at the school gates, around the day-care centres and in the small shops – the concerns of the ordinary people of Britain.

After all, that’s who we are.

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Linda Duberley answered David Cameron's call for ordinary, non-political MPs. So why can't she get a seat?